


Blame it on the fucking turkeys

by casasst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom Draco Malfoy, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Holidays, Knifeplay, M/M, New York City, One Shot, Post-War, Praise Kink, Relationship Issues, Slash, Some Humor, Spanking, Sub Harry Potter, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 23:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casasst/pseuds/casasst
Summary: Two British wizards in New York City, an enthusiastic bartender and too much firewhiskey. Oh, and because it’s Thanksgiving, of course, fucking turkeys.





	Blame it on the fucking turkeys

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all of those who feel like that and all my sympathy to the rest of you who would also rather forget about it. I started this to let a few of my feelings out but then the plot magically turned into something much more uplifting!
> 
> Oh, and since this has cheered me up so much, I left a little Easter Egg for my fellow New Yorker’s, i.e., a little detail about the not so very well-known parts of the city. If you know, you know, and you have probably seen me in real life.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

“What can I get ‘ya?”

“Scotch. Just a Scotch”, Harry replied.

The bartender turned away, nestled around for a second and set the glass in front of Harry.

“Wanna open a tab?”

“Sure.” Harry handed her a credit card and was grateful that she had the decency to pretend to be busy instead of trying to interact with him. He looked at the glass and sighed. At least, he told himself, nobody would ever see him like this. The anonymity of New York City would swallow him once more as it had so reliably done for the past three years.

It had been a tough decision to leave everybody behind after the war had ended. Until it did, Harry had never doubted that he would stay in England, with his friend and second family. That he would become an Auror and a normal part of the British wizard world. But it had soon become clear that this was a naïve conception of the future of the-boy-who-lived-and-defeated-the-Dark-Lord.

He was not good at dealing with media attention, he was even worse at seeing everybody around him finding stable relationships, settling into families, and he was worst at trying to establish such a relationship for himself. As his friends left the past behind, Harry felt more and more stuck with feelings and anxieties from the past. Seven years of living under a constant death threat to himself and everyone around him had left him with a deep anxiety to form meaningful relationships. And the ones he had formed estranged themselves from him as the other former Gryffindors returned to what they knew to be a normal life.

Harry did not know what a normal life meant. The way everybody treated him at home did not help him to learn it. He had lived and survived 17 years as the-boy-who-lives, never truly in touch with the person Harry Potter, and he felt himself growing into the-man-who-defeated-the-Dark-Lord, still not Harry Potter.

After a few months of deliberation, he decided that it was time for him to move on and find an identity that was not defined by a past he wanted to forget. He transferred his funds to the United States, gifted Grimmauld Place 12 to Hermione and Ron who were in need of a home for themselves, and used a few favors in the Ministry to transfer his Auror trainee position to the American Ministry in New York.

All in all, he had no regrets about his decision. New York was not only a metropole in the muggle world, the size of its magical inhabitants was just as enormous. And while the war against Voldemort had been the top news there as well, the sheer number of scandals and stories that the city produced had soon swallowed the story of an English boy who saved a tiny island at the other side of the globe. Harry started a normal life, for the first time, at least as normal as a wizard’s life could ever become.

And yet, even this normal life screamed for a whiskey night every now and then. Today was definitely one of them. Today meaning Thanksgiving, the odd and slightly questionable American holiday that should not mean much to him and would nonetheless end in a self-pitying hangover. Self-pity for being alone on Thanksgiving when everybody else was with their family, partners, and friends, eating fucking turkey and drinking and thanking themselves for being together.

Self-pity squared, he growled inwardly, because he knew that he had thrown himself in this situation. He could have gone home to visit his friends – even though it was a normal workday for them and no occasion for celebrations. He could have accepted the Minister’s invitation to watch the magical Thanksgiving parade with a select group from one of the Ministry towers – even though he hated parades and despised being given special status. He could have asked Adam whether he could come with him to his family’s Thanksgiving celebrations upstate – even though  _he_  had been the one assuring Adam that he did not want the stereotypical in love-engaged-married kind of relationship and not give that impression to anyone.

“Everything alright here?”, interrupted the bartender.

“Sure.”

“Can I get you another?”

“Sure.”

“I get you, darling. Thanksgiving sucks.”

Harry managed to throw her a half-hearted, one-sided smirk. Now that he had thought about Adam – again – his mood had swayed from gloomy to sad. Adam had been a lucky coincidence, someone with just the right amount of compatible attachment issues, the same lack of desire for a family of his own, highly similar sex preferences, and a body that felt like it was just made for Harry. He sighed.

The bartender brought a fresh glass. “I would have made it on the house, but the other Thanksgiving hater over there has gotten in the way of that. He congratulates you on, I quote,” and her voice shifted to an awful, Americanized British accent. “not falling for the dumbest holiday in the history of humankind.”

Harry gave her a puzzled look.

“So, I guess one on the house is one for me”, she added cheerfully, clinking her glass with Harry’s. “Cheers.”

Harry slowly lifted his glass, sipped, and almost coughed the liquid out again. That was not smooth, earthy Scotch. That was the burning taste of firewhiskey.

“I take that as a: Tell him to fuck off?”, the bartender asked. She leaned forward, elbows on the bar, the cleavage between her breasts right in Harry’s view. Whether it was just coincidence or whether she was flirting with Harry he could not tell.

“Not necessarily”, Harry answered. “Who is he?”

“The guy with the bleached hair at the other end. Rich kid, I’d say. So no waste in just takin’ the drink ‘n run.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Familiar face?”

“You bet.”

Harry had frozen in an uncomfortably twisted position on his bar chair, hands holding on the glass on the bar, feet locked behind the chair legs, torso twisted away from the man that his head had turned to look at. Even though his neck started to ache in this pose, he could neither avert his gaze nor get his body to face the same direction. The part of his brain that tentatively tried to figure out the odds of this happening was close to self-destruction. Two similarly unlikely scenarios were under consideration. Either Draco Malfoy had a Doppelganger in New York City (and Harry happened to stumble upon him out of all other 8 million people in the city), or Draco Malfoy himself was sitting at the other end of the bar (out of all the countless places he could be instead).

“Doesn’t seem like he’s been a good friend?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the bartender who had gone from such a great, New-York-style silent, careless, service provider to a quite nosy annoyance. She raised both hands and took a step back in response.

“Just sayin’. No offense. I’ll leave you to it if you don’t want me to tell him anything.”

Harry thought about it for a moment.

“Tell him he could have only made it worse by dangling a fucking turkey in front of my nose.”

The bartender blinked rapidly as if clearing her sight might help to clear her understanding of what Harry just said. But Harry saw no need to explain himself further. There was literally nothing that he wanted to see less tonight than the omnipresent symbol of Thanksgiving, the fucking turkey.

“Alright. You got it.”, she said and went off. This, she told herself, was at least an  _interesting_  Thanksgiving.

Harry resumed his task for the evening: silently staring at his glass. Only to be startled by a violent burst of laughter from the other side of the bar. The bartender who let it out was holding her stomach with one hand, gripping the edge of the bar for balance as she bent over with what looked like severe giggles.

Looking at her, Harry could not prevent his gaze from shifting over to Malfoy who sat at his place unmoved by the emotional outburst in front of him. Maybe there was a hint of a smile on his face, but Harry’s vision was too weak to tell for sure.

After about a minute, the bartender had regained her constitution and walked back to Harry on stiff legs.

“He”, she giggled. “He says… hew, man, you guys are good… he says that he  _dearly_  – my god, who says  _dearly_  – regrets that you cannot share his kink for watching obese birds fuck or otherwise this evening could have turned out to be so much better for both of you.”

Harry could not figure out what had caused his mouth to fall open first: the fact that Malfoy had made such a dirty  _benevolent_  joke or that this little bit of smut could cause such a response in a New York bartender. Maybe she had just moved to the city.

“Did not make your evening worse, did it?”, she snickered. “Oh, please, please tell me you’d like me to let him know your response.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Harry asked with all the annoyance that he had accumulated over the day concealing the seed of amusement that this scenario had planted in him.

The bartender took an exaggeratedly searching look around the room. “Nope.”, she declared.

“Tell him he will see pigs flying around fucking turkeys before there will be an evening where  _his_  company would make it a better one.”

“Ouch.”, the bartender commented, playfully biting her index finger. She picked up a bottle from the shelf behind her and refilled Harry’s glass before she got on her way back to Malfoy with a cheerful “We don’t want this conversation to run dry too soon.”

Harry looked at his refilled glass reproachfully. He could not leave while his glass was still full, he justified his continued presence. Whether it was some form of sunk cost principle or a form of emotional masochism that kept him at this bar only Merlin knew. While something inside him knew very well that he stayed because he had started to enjoy this interaction. To avoid that piece of him growing too sure, he did not let his gaze drift to the other side of the room. Looking at Malfoy now would have been too much of a confession of interest in him.

“Love letter for ‘ya.”, the bartender announced, handing Harry a folded piece of parchment. “Seems like your  _friend_ ” She licked her lips and clicked her tongue. “does not want me to be part of your little game anymore.”

Harry took the paper from her, taking a generous sip of firewhiskey as he looked at it. As if to prove his unwavering superciliousness, Malfoy had sealed the small, crumpled piece of parchment with the Malfoy emblem, dragons and snakes guarding the oversized M. Before breaking the seal, Harry gripped his wand firmly. With a flick of his wrist, he cast an opening spell, bracing himself for being attacked by ink monsters and worse.

To his surprise, the only thing that popped out of the parchment was a magical hologram of two stuffed, decorated, and nicely browned turkeys  _fucking_  while a circle of joyfully pink piglets flew in circles around them. Harry felt the vein under his left eye twitching. Then his diaphragm joined the spasm in the same rhythm. A second later, he heard himself laugh.

The bartender dropped onto the floor behind the counter, joining his outburst with frantic giggles. She was still lying there when Harry regained control over his breath and inevitably looked at Malfoy who was, now Harry was sure, smiling at him.

With a deep sigh and what he would have called Gryffindor courage a few years ago, Harry abandoned his seat and mess of a bartender to join Malfoy at the other end of the bar.

“Care to explain?”, he asked broadly, hoping the other would reveal more this way.

“No. You?”, Malfoy replied without losing his smile.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, thinned out by the background music that kept the conversations in the bar private and loners like them entertained. Harry took the seat next to Malfoy. He rose his glass and held it out for Malfoy to click glasses with him.

“Well then, to two obviously wonderful Thanksgivings.”

Malfoy snorted but touched glasses with Harry. “To fucking turkeys and flying pigs.”

Harry subdued another smile. “What the hell has messed so badly with your head? Are you already drunk?”

“Ah, Potter. Three years in New York and two of them in Brooklyn. If my head wasn’t a mess, I would not have survived. And probably also not if two glasses of firewhiskey would already make me drunk.”

“You have been here  _three years_?”

“No better option for an English-speaking wizard who does not want to deal with all the post-war drama on the island, especially if he’s gay. You should know that better than anyone else, Potter.”

Harry felt his head nod before he realized that he was giving away more about himself with this response than he cared to. The moment the word ‘gay’ reached his consciousness, his gaze darted back from his hands to Malfoy’s face.

“Don’t give me that I-am-so-surprised-and-completely-innocent look, Potter. It’s cute but so misleading.”

“Cute?!” Harry bellowed visibly offended.

“Oh, you don’t like that, don’t you, Potter? How about adorable?”

“A-adorable?” As Harry’s anger ebbed away, it made room for extensive confusion.

“I have always wondered why you never cared to cast a better transfiguration spell on you when you were out.”

That statement did nothing to lessen Harry’s puzzlement. He had changed his physical appearance for the first few months when he walked through those parts of New York that were mainly inhabited by witches and wizards. But after the media had been silent about him for weeks and the only ones recognizing him as the-boy-who or the-man-who, etc., were tourists from Britain, he had spared himself the effort. The only one place where he had continued doing so were certain parties and not necessarily when he went with Adam because he wanted him to see his real – the penny dropped. Harry’s cheeks turned scarlet.

“Don’t look so scandalized, Potter. Or, maybe do. It’s quite a sight.” Malfoy allowed himself a chuckle. “Me telling you I saw you also means I was there. My fourteen-year-old self might have found it amusing to drag this into the public. Now I find it much more amusing to tease you in private.”

Harry still felt the heat on his cheeks. The combination of the memories Malfoy had brought to life, the words “tease” and “private” had done nothing to let his head cool down. He picked up his drink without looking up from his feet, almost knocking it over before he could bring it to his mouth. The burning taste calmed him down a bit. Malfoy drank with him, apparently waiting for Harry’s response.

“Where  _exactly_  have you seen me?” Harry asked, voice lowered.

“Where the carpet is grateful for a pair of very high and very thin heels.”, Malfoy replied with a wink.

“We’re all good here, yeah?” Their bartender cheerfully asked, pretending to clean the countertop close by that appeared spotless to begin with. Both men ignored her. “We do have a turkey slider special if you guys are hung-“

“Keep your fucking turkey.”, Harry blurted out. “What is it with you Americans and that stupid, obese bird?”

The bartender blinked perplexed. “Ok. No turkey. You got it.”

“Raw feelings?”, Malfoy remarked.

“I meant it, about the fucking turkey. It’s just…” Harry sighed. “No need to discuss that with you Malfoy, ok? Just, no turkey.”

“Alright. As long as the turkey is the problem and not the preceding adjective.”

Harry managed to let the anger that was still brewing in him overpower his renewed embarrassment and looked Malfoy straight in the eyes. “What are you trying to do here, Malfoy?”

“Just making this a better Thanksgiving for both of us. I already saw pigs flying around fucking turkeys.”

“Ha!” Harry could not help but be amused. “Because you  _made_  them, Malfoy.”

“Well, I like to take control of the situation.”

Harry could have sworn that Malfoy bewitched him at that moment to create eye contact again. The undertone had made it very clear that Malfoy would not let the direction of this conversation stir in any other direction than the one he kept alluding to anymore. The blue-gray eyes rested firmly on Harry’s face, wandering between eyes and lips. The firm determination that was so typical for the Slytherin had taken on a slightly different, darker shade.

“Any form of situation.”

This time, Harry could not only feel the heat rising to his head. He became as aware of his own body as of Malfoy’s, the decreasing space between them. The other had turned his torso towards him, arms open, legs crossed, back straight, one hand playing with the whiskey glass, the other resting on his thigh. It was a pose that shouted ‘enjoy the view’. And Harry did. As little as he wanted to, he simply did.

Malfoy looked at him with more self-assuredness than ever. Whatever his plan had been, it seemed to have worked out so far. It made Harry uneasy but at the same time curious. He wondered just about how much Malfoy had seen, how much he knew. How well the other had picked his words to touch upon a part in Harry that he kept secret from the public for good reasons.

“What have you seen, Malfoy. Tell me.”

“Oh, right now I have a lovely view of a certainly confused and potentially aroused Harry Potter.” He grinned. “But if you want to know what I  _have_  seen in the past few months involving that very same person… I could use some memory aids here, it has been quite a while, sadly.”

“What have you seen me do that would make me want to transfigure my face into a different one?” Harry specified in a hushed voice. How he had ended up in this conversation and why he kept it going was a matter that his rational mind refused to answer. In any case, he much preferred to keep that conversation as quiet as possible.

Malfoy leaned towards him, the hand that he used to steady himself pressed flat on the bar right next to Harry’s arm. As he answered, in not much more than a whisper, his face moved past Harry’s cheek, next to his ear.

“I have seen you on your knees. I have seen you on a leash. I have seen you tied up against a wall. I have seen you gagged. I have seen you spanked and hit and whipped. I have seen you pleading for release.” He paused. “I have seen you in so many beautiful forms of submission, it makes my phantasies go rogue looking at you.”

The knot in Harry’s throat was of the kind that one cannot swallow. Malfoy had not given him an inch more space than he had when the blonde started his list. He could feel his breath on his cheek. With just a slight shift of balance, Harry could make their knees touch. It came as no surprise that Malfoy did not break that body contact.

Suddenly, Malfoy backed away.

“Here’s the deal, Potter.”, Malfoy looked at him steadily. There was no sweet whispering anymore. His tone was harsh and clear. “I will be back in a few minutes. If you want to play, stay right where you are. If you don’t, leave before I come back. It’s your decision.”

Harry had not noticed their bartender’s presence until she commented: “Oh… is this turning into some kind of sexy drinking game?”

“You have no idea.”, Harry answered in a low voice. “Just get me my check.”

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, Harry stood in the middle of a loft, Malfoy standing right behind his back. He could feel his breath on his neck, the warmth contrasting with the skin that had cooled down in the freezing night air.

“Speechless, Potter?”, Malfoy asked. “I cannot have that quite yet.”

Harry turned around. Yes, he was in a state that was not compatible with being particularly eloquent. There was a mixture of fear and excitement brewing in his stomach. A combination that aroused him more than anything else.

His eyes had automatically been drawn to the less conventional features of Malfoy’s apartment. There were massive clamps installed on the uncovered beams of the ceiling. Two of them had chains attached to them, rope was rolled up at the end of another. Harry had also noticed that there were metal rings above eye level at one wall, a few inches more than shoulder width apart. Nothing was screaming kink but there were enough hints to stir his phantasy.

Before Harry had finished his surface inspection, he felt Malfoys hands on his shoulders. They pulled him out of his coat, turning him around to face his school day enemy. His coat dropped to the floor.

“I have seen you do a lot, Potter. I know that does not mean you will want me to do any of that.” Malfoy paused to lock his gaze into Harry’s. “But I am not of the asking kind. I will, per default, take what I want, when I want. If you do not want to deal with that, go now. Is that understood?”

Harry nodded. Malfoy grabbed his chin firmly, firm enough to force Harry’s mouth open.

“I said that I cannot quite have you speechless yet, Potter. If I ask you a question, I want to hear a clear ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if I can get you to call me Sir quite yet…” mumbled Malfoy as he let go of Harry’s chin. “What do you think, would that be fun, Potter?”

Harry gasped as Malfoy lay a flat hand on his cheek, caressing his lower lip for just one second. The sneaky glimmer in Malfoy’s eyes reminded him of whom he was dealing with. “In your dreams, Malfoy.” The last syllable had not left his throat when the hand that had just touched him so gently smacked him in the face.

“Oh, I knew you would need to learn your lessons the hard way, Potter. What fun would it be otherwise?” Malfoy put his hand back on Harry’s chin, gently again. “But the most important thing for you to learn is this: Whenever you want things to stop, say ‘red’. Everything will be over immediately. Whenever you need me to slow down, say ‘mercy’. Whenever I hear this word, I will stop whatever I am doing and I will check in with you. But I will not quite let you go. Understood?”

“Yes.” Harry smiled at the choice of the second safe word. It was good. It was sexy. It was the perfect option to slow things down without ending them.

“Repeat the words.”

“Red. Mercy.”

“Very good.” Malfoy let his lips brush Harry’s for the first time. The promise of more made both shiver. “Now lose your shirt, shoes, and socks. Then stand facing the big window over there.”

Something in Harry’s head started to shift and part of that process was catalyzed by Malfoy's voice that had lowered to a vibrating baritone. He felt his eyes on him as he got rid of everything he had been told to.

Harry understood why Malfoy had positioned him in front of the mirror as soon as he saw his own reflection in the glass. The night sky transformed the window into a mirror that showed him his every movement as well as Malfoy’s. The blonde had removed his shirt as well and was stepping behind Harry with slow, deliberate motions.

“Hands behind your head.”, he ordered.

Harry hesitated for one breath. Malfoy whispered a few syllables and Harry felt his hands being dragged up, held firmly together by the ropes that the other hand conjured.

“Hm. Still not quite convinced, are we?”

Malfoy’s voice was a whisper by his ear, his breath playing with the sensitive skin behind Harry’s ear, lips so close to his earcup that their presence felt like touch. Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself a silent moan.

“Open your eyes, Potter. Look at what has become of you.”

Malfoys body moved closer, touching his back. As Harry opened his eyes, the other’s hand wandered up his chest, to his throat. One by one, Malfoy lay his fingers around his neck. Their eyes met in their mirror reflections. Slowly, Malfoy’s fingers and body pressed against Harry’s throat and back, trapping him in a seductive embrace. Harry felt the blood pulsing against Malfoy’s fingers and in his crotch. The picture of himself restrained and half-naked, helpless in the arms of the man he used to despise burned itself into his memory. Breathing became harder as Malfoy’s grip on his throat became firmer, close to painful.

“Just about how much can you take, Potter?”, he asked. “A lot, I bet. It’s not going to be the pain that drives you mad, is it?”

Malfoy slowly released his hand, letting Harry breathe for three seconds. His left hand wandered from Harry’s neck to his chest, drifted over each nipple, his flat stomach, down the marked line of black hair that surrounded his navel and then traveled further down. Harry bit his lower lip, watching every detail of the scene, following Malfoy’s hand with his eyes as he felt it on his skin.

“Perhaps I’ll just drive you mad the other way.”, Malfoy growled.

With one quick, determined motion, he pressed his hips against Harry’s ass and his hand against Harry’s erection. He was every bit as aroused as Harry, his cock pressed demanding against the trousers, its heat perceptible through two layers of fabric.

Harry gave up on keeping his eyes open as demanded and closed them as he released a long moan. Every inch of him wanted to press against Malfoy’s body, now. Wanted to feel the firm contours of his torso against his back and his pulsing cock against his butt.

“Ah-ah.” Malfoy’s touch was gone as suddenly as it had been granted. Harry’s skin felt cold where his touch had left. “Haven’t I told you to open your eyes?”

Harry opened his eyes halfway, gaze cast down on the floor in front of his feet. As he shook his head, Malfoy’s feet walked into his line of sight. He grabbed his chin with three fingers and forced him to look up into Malfoy’s face. The difference in height between them seemed to have grown by inches.

“What was that?”

“Yes.” Harry’s breathing had quickened. He was aroused because he had felt this outright male body against his own, had felt its arousal because he was afraid what Malfoy would do to punish him for failing to follow his orders.

“Yes what?”

Harry pressed his lips together. He might be manacled, wandless, half-naked and at Malfoy’s mercy, but he was not yet at the point of mindless submission. With all bravery left in his clouded mind, he looked straight into the blue eyes that appeared darker and deeper with widened pupils. Which created a devious smile on Malfoy’s lips. He licked them as he moved to Harry’s side.

“I knew you would insist on being a little brat.”

Malfoy flicked his wand, conjuring another rope that lay itself around the top of Harry’s neck and connected itself to the knot between his wrists. As long as Harry kept his eyes open, he was forced to watch his mirror image and every single thing that Malfoy would do to him.

The blonde ran his wand across Harry’s spine. First, it felt like ordinary wood. Then the touch intensified, sharpened, like the tip of a knife pressing into Harry’s back muscles. With a playful swing, Malfoy brought his wand to Harry’s chest, letting the same invisible blade run across each of his nipples before he pressed it firmly to the base of the left one. Harry gasped in as the sharp pain shot through his chest, into the tips of his fingers and through a bunch of unidentifiable nerves.

“Oh…” Malfoy stroked the insulted nipple with fake pity. Harry could see the grin on his face. “Did that hurt?”

Harry growled in response. His over-sensitized nipple ached but that only made Malfoy’s touch more intense. He wanted that sensation to intensify, he wanted it to spread. His cock twitched at the expectation of feeling Malfoy’s hands all over his body.

“It is quite remarkable how many different sensations the tip of a wand can produce.”, Malfoy mused while he let the said item wander across Harry’s ribs, his stomach, his hip bones. Harry’s eyes grew wider. He could see how Malfoy’s other hand stroked his own crotch as his wand approached Harry’s.

Malfoy laughed. “Not yet. Not until you have learned your lesson.” His wand made a quick turn, ending up at the border between Harry’s ass and thighs. “I guess pants will not speed up that process.” And with one word, they were gone.

Harry’s erection was now clearly visible, stretching out the fabric of his boxer briefs. He shifted his weight from one foot to another in a desperate act of half-embarrassment and greater arousal caused by the image of his own cock signaling so very clearly just about how close he was to giving in. It did not help that Malfoy’s left hand had stopped stroking himself and instead repeated the same motion on Harry’s behind.

“Anything that came to your mind that you would like to say?”, he asked, his hand still rubbing up and down Harry’s ass, wand resting at the bottom.

Harry bit his lower lip harder than before as he shook his head.

“Then” Malfoy raised his hand. He paused to make sure that Harry had taken in the gesture. Let him wait and fear for a second, savor the sound of his heart pounding two beats faster. “I will remind you.”

Malfoy’s flat hand hit Harry’s ass with force and precision. The smacks came in regular intervals, throbbing pain building up as the hits accumulated. With every slap, the sensation transformed. What had started as a discomfort soon grew into sweet pain, the kind that sent shivers down Harry’s spine and made him stretch his butt even closer to the hand that hit him.

But after a minute, the sweetness subsided while Malfoy’s hits still intensified, coming with the full force of his arm. The force sent vibrations through Harry’s back to his arms and shoulders. His body started to fight against the impact, he started to lean away from the blows but his hip was pinned by Malfoy’s leg and free hand and his arms were tied up above his head. Harry’s moans mixed with little screams. The pain started to crystallize in its pure form, making him squirm and rebel against his restraints.

“Say it.” Malfoy whispered into his ear between two smacks. “Say ‘I am sorry,  _Sir_ ’, and I will stop.”

Another blow, further down this time, not aimed at Harry’s ass but at the much more sensitive muscle below. Harry screamed and instinctively kicked his foot up at the site of impact.

“Just say the words, Harry.” Malfoy’s lips wandered up the side of his neck as he repeated himself. With a flick of his wrist, his wand lengthened to the size of a cane. Harry swallowed hard. He stared at the toy with a mix of fear and fascination. He did not want this game to end. As much as his ass hurts, because his ass hurt so much, he did not want Malfoy to stop. Every fiber of his body was alert, on fire. Arousal was rushing through his blood.

“I gave you the choice.”, Malfoy said before the cane hissed through the air, coming down at Harry’s ass with an audible flick followed by Harry’s scream. He had automatically pressed his eyes shut but forced them open again, remembering Malfoy’s command. Harry knew he was close to giving in completely if he did not want to risk another act of disobedience. Pain and arousal had wiped most of his mind blank. Another blow with the cane and…

“I’m sorry, Sir.”, he exhaled as the next hit blew the air out of his lungs. He felt his butt pulsating with heat and two burning hot streaks where Malfoy’s wand had struck him.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Malfoy’s grip around his hips softened. The hand that had just hit him settled gently around the curvature of his butt cheek.

And again, he felt Malfoy’s lips against his neck.

“Good boy.”

But this time they were not merely teasing, they settled for a firm kiss that made Harry’s weakened knees give in. He did not have enough grip on his senses to puzzle together all the sensations that rained down on him. A tongue teasing his neck, a hand caressing his ass, lips on his collarbone, hands on his cock. Oh Merlin, finally a hand on his cock.

“That was quite a hard lesson to learn, wasn’t it.”

“Yes, Sir.”, the answer came automatically from Harry’s mouth. He did not want to think about what he was saying or what was happening to him anymore. He just wanted to feel that hand on his dick and maybe more. Please, more.

“Well, since you have learned it so well, you deserve quite a reward.”, Malfoy whispered as he let his left hand slip into Harry’s underwear and made it disappear with the next word he spoke. “And you should at least have a brief look at it.”

Only now did Harry realize that he had held his eyes shut. For how long? He opened them, a tinge of guilt casting a shadow over his newly found relief because he had not done as he had been told, obviously.

“It’s okay. Just open them now.”, Malfoy said as he felt Harry tensing up in his arms. And so Harry opened his eyes again, facing his naked self embraced by the other man, just as naked. “Look closely. This is how I want to see you. Helpless and hurt, an obedient little toy that is just mine to play with. Isn’t that what you want to be? My little play toy?”

“Yes, Sir.”, Harry responded and at that moment, every fiber in his body meant it.

~*~

The ringing of his phone woke Harry up the next morning. Despite all means of wizard communication, he still found this Muggle device to be the most useful tool to stay in touch. He accepted the call without registering who was calling.

“Hello?”, he croaked.

“Hey there.” It was Adam’s voice. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be back tomorrow. The snowstorm is holding us prisoner here.”

“Uh. Ok. Thanks for letting me know.”

“You sound kind of hung over. I hope you had a nice Thanksgiving?”

“Mhh.” Still half-asleep, Harry patted down the pillow in search for his glasses. He always forgot to take them off when he fell asleep drunk. But instead of a metal frame, his hand reached for a tuft of blonde hair. “Yeah, I… I think I did.”

“Alright. Do you want me to bring some leftover turkey? Or are you still on your no-fucking-turkey for me trip?”

Harry burst into laughter before he managed to answer: “Oh, it’s all good. I think fucking turkeys are not so bad after all.”


End file.
